


What happens at the end

by WhoLockHead



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoLockHead/pseuds/WhoLockHead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does John and Sherlock cope after the fall. Will they meet, or forever seemed to miss eachothers paths?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One- John Watson

**Author's Note:**

> For Rosie Flood and Alex Clifford, really quick draft

It wasn't the first time I woke up in a pool of my own sweat. Many times I did after the war, but this was different. Not unlike the last four weeks... but different. It wasn't like the war nightmares. There you were in action. Fighting or healing on the front line. The bullet could pass right past your eyes and sever the guy behind you. A knife could be jammed into your gut. But it was only a dream, it wouldn't hurt.

But this hurt. I can tell you that. His face, his weak limp figure. His death. At one point in my life I didn't care if I lived or died. So to lose my only reason to stay living hurt more than death itself. If I could return to them cold, horrid flashbacks of my reckless past I would. Oh trust me I would. I hated every second of remembering "Doctor" John Watson. He wasn't a hero. He was a coward. He could never save all the solders, and if he couldn't do that he wasn't good enough.

But John Watson the doctor was different. He was a companion, a detective. Even a celebrity. I don't mean to brag but I had more "attention" than I had in years... I suppose it being gone now isn't what hurt the most. It wasn't that I wasn't living it any more. Its the fact that he- Sherlock made me the guy I wanted to be. The guy who saved people, actually saved them. Who figured out the clues and stopped the villains. I could finally be the person I could never be in the army.

I suppose when I lost him. I lost me. Not in corny way but in a true way. Its almost as if my favourite toy was stolen and the only way I can continue the game is to get it back. But it isn't a game, or a toy. He was Sherlock Holmes. A man of too many words ( it was always better when he didn't talk.) I remembered the many occasions he would just grab people off the street and accuse them of things to see what he could find out. 

I'm not calling him crazy. But he was. I'm not calling him clever, but that he was immensely to. However I am saying he was my best friend, and even if that crazy twat said otherwise I was his. So i guess this is my last blog post. Not because I cant bare to write without him, but simply as I don't want to. How on earth will life be interesting without him.

Bang. He closed the lid and set down the laptop. Sat next to him was a steaming cup of tea that miss Hudson must of left him. John must of sat there hours trying to finish it and even then it didn't sound right. He couldn't publish that. It didn't do him justice, and somehow if the blogs never ended neither did Sherlock. "Miss Hudson!". John screamed. His dressing gown slightly undone and his hair in a nest. "I think i might need coffee, looks like this blog needs more work."


	2. Chapter two - Sherlock Homles

He was a shipwreck in the middle of a island of ash, beer cans and old chip rappers. His legs were hanging over the edge of the cheap hotel sofa and the cover was wrapped around his head. The curtains that covered a small, streaky window were closed despite it being 2 in the afternoon. The room itself stunk of cigeretts and decay. He must of left food laying about from a couple of days ago as flies accumalted around the desk in his room. It was one of many, every couple of days he would move on to another hotel.He couldnt be spotted( for some reason he never was without the hat.)

After all the years solving crimes, he had accumlated some money, which ofcourse he had refused. Sometimes the people mandaged to sneak it into his bank account, and more often than not it would sit there for years gaining intrest. Because of this sherlock was fairly rich in his savings. He was able to move almost infinetly to diffrent hotels and each would be as run down and cheap as the next. He didnt care. He spent his day wollowing and drinking. He had also recently reclaimed his smoking habbit. He used to want to be in control and be in his best shape, but why did he need to? Sherlock would just move on tomorrow. He had already spent 4 days in this room. Even the cleaner knocked on the door, heard the groan of a dirty, depressed man and left. Cleaning his room just wasnt worth it.

Sherlock felt empty.It was unlike him not to function, but he felt he had no purpose. If he could hide in hotel rooms forever he would never have to face anything. Suddnely his white bed sheets stirred. His large hands pulled down the white cloth he had cacooned himself in the last few days and he pushed it down to waist height. He breathed deeply. He was trying to restore the air into his lungs as he moved his ribs up and down. His skin was pale white and almost translucent.

He opened his eyes.They were ringed in red. He didnt mind as he rustled his hair which still remained in tacked, and shuffled across the room. He peered through a tiny gap in the curtain . Two aclock, noted. The amount of dust on the window (taking into account ash) would say he had been asleep for a whole day since he last checked. A cleaner was outside in the hotels courtyard. She was stump, old. And according to the tan line on her left finger and the amount of ice cream she held.. recently divorced. Despite the pounding in his head he still had it. He groaned slightly and grabbed another beer can which leant in the corner. "God im bored." He muttered to himself. " I dont like being bored." He sipped from the can and stared into space then picked up his phone which was on the chair next to him. _Figured it out yet watson? SH_ , he almost pressed send but instead laughed in an almost depret and drunkard manner. "no ofcourse not why would he?" he muttered to himself again. This time he finished the can in one.


End file.
